


Thrice

by afteriwake



Series: How You Got The Girl [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twice before Sherlock Holmes has resisted the urge to reach out the Irene Adler. But the third time, when she’s so tantalizingly close, he can’t resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Francesca_Wayland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francesca_Wayland/gifts).



> So a while back a friend of mine, **Francesca_Wayland** asked me to write Sherlock/Irene fic. The prompt I got was _(Adlock, Great Hiatus timeline.) Twice Sherlock is able to suppress the urge to reach out to Irene Adler while they're both "dead". But on the third occasion he can't ignore the need to see her and they reunite, even if only for a short time..._ , and I am sorry that I _just_ got around to finishing what I had started last week. Hopefully it is okay?

He had thought the last he would see of her was her sleeping form in the hotel room after he saved her life. When he had finally succumbed to sleep she had been sleeping peacefully in the other bed; when he woke up the bed was empty, the money and fake ID gone. He had taken the time to study her figure as she slept. There had been no luggage for either of them, as they had changed plans at the last moment, and she had stripped down to her bra and knickers to sleep. He had already seen her naked so her figure was nothing new, but now that she wasn’t trying to seduce him he could look at her without annoyance. She did have a rather exquisite figure, curvy in the right places, right balance of muscle and soft tissue. She had a very classic figure, one that had been hidden by the garb she had been forced to wear. She hadn’t bothered with sheets or blanket, so he could let his eyes linger, taking in toned muscles and soft skin. He looked, studied and observed, but did not touch. Even though he doubted she would mind, he was simply not interested.

His life went on, and he found she only came to mind sometimes, when he was letting his mind wander. His thoughts would go to some aspect of one of their encounters and he would relive it, study it, pay particular attention to her. He’d listen to her voice, study the look in her eyes or the smile on her lips. Each time he’d pick one thing and focus on it more than anything else. 

When he had to go, leave London to track down the various threads to Moriarty’s network, he thought about her more often. He’d been gone three months when he was in New York, waiting to catch a flight to Vancouver to go chasing after an assassin who was described as a human ghost, and he considered changing his plans and getting onto a plan to go to New Orleans, which was where he had last heard she was. He had almost gone so far as to change the ticket before he snapped himself out of it. She was trying to keep herself hidden; him showing up like a specter from her past would be something she wouldn’t want.

It was hard though, having no contact with anyone except heavily coded messages with his brother and his assistant. He had kept his old mobile, even though it was no longer turned on, and occasionally he would go back through old text messages, looking at the many messages Irene had sent to him. He had considered at least attempting to find her number and attempting to send her a message, seeing if a text from him would warrant a response. He could easily find out her new mobile number, send her a message, but would she want to hear from him? In the end, he decided it didn’t matter. It was best if no one else was wrapped up in all of this.

It wasn’t until he was in Paris, having a brief moment to himself, that it changed. He was at an outdoor café, sipping coffee and watching the people, when he saw her. She had changed, but she hadn’t as well. Her hair was straight, and no longer dark, instead a lighter brown. It was shoulder length now and she had it tucked back behind an ear as she studied her mobile. He had made it a point to find out the number and so after a moment he sent her a text. _Care to have dinner? SH_ he sent. Then he waited for her reaction.

He heard her text alert go off, and he saw the puzzled look on her face. She keyed in a response. _I don’t like jokes_ he got moments later.

 _Two tables to the left and one up. SH_ he sent back.

She looked up and then looked around, spotting him. A smile slowly spread across her face. After a moment she picked up her cup and saucer and made her way to his table. “Well. It’s nice to see a familiar face,” she said.

“It is,” he said, nodding. He picked up his coffee and took a sip.

“Was that dinner invitation genuine?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Yes,” he said. “Though I meant for actual dinner.”

“I know the perfect place, then,” she said. “Are you hungry now?”

“I could eat now,” he said.

“Then let’s go,” she said, setting down her coffee and standing up. He set down his own coffee and she took his hand, leading him along the streets of Paris to L'Astrance. She must have gone there frequently because she knew the people there by name, and they gave her what he assumed was one of the best tables in the restaurant. They had personal service and he had to admit, it was very nice.

As the evening wound down he found himself not wanting to leave her company. He wasn’t usually a wine drinker but he had had a few glasses of a very fine red with his meal, and he had let it affect him. As they left the restaurant he kept close to her, hand linked in hers again, keeping her by his side. When she pulled him into an alleyway, put her back against a wall and pulled him flush against her, he had no problem bending his head to kiss her, to capture her lips with his.

He had thought it might be like this, kissing Irene. Passionate and heady, thrilling and intoxicating. He kissed her like he needed her, like she was a drug and he couldn’t get enough. She didn’t fight him for dominance, but she let her hands roam, raking her hands down his chest over his shirt, ending at the waistband of his trousers. After a moment she let her hand move lower, caressing him through his trousers. He groaned into the kiss and ground his burgeoning erection into her hand. He pulled away from the kiss. “We should go somewhere more private,” he said, moving his lips near her ear.

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” she said, her voice low and similar to a cat’s purr. She moved her hand back up to the button of his trousers and undid it before moving to the zipper and lowering it. He didn’t wear pants so his erection was freed within moments, and she began to stroke him. “I think it would be very interesting for the very first time for Sherlock Holmes to take me would be somewhere where someone could possibly encounter us at any minute.”

“A shag with a bit of spice,” Sherlock said before gritting his teeth. Her hands felt good.

“Exactly,” she said. “So long as the second takes place in the comfort of my bed.” 

“I could agree to that,” he said. 

She had on a dress and so he lifted it up to her waist. He went to pull her knickers down but was surprised to find she had on a garter belt and thigh high stockings. She gave a husky laugh as he ran his finger along the edge of the stockings. “I don’t only like wearing lingere when I’m intending on being bedded.”

“It will be interesting to remove,” he said, moving her lips to her neck, nipping at her skin.

She moaned softly. “And how much experience do you have removing women’s lingerie?” she asked.

“More than you think,” he said before slipping his fingers into her knickers and beginning to tease her. He was knowledgeable; despite his brother’s claims otherwise he was not a virgin. He’d had his own wild days and done his own experimenting, had his own teachers in the sexual arts of whom he had been a rather apt pupil. He began to tease her, slowly working her into a frenzy. 

“Oh, Sherlock,” she moaned, her voice breathy. “You _are_ skilled.”

“And just think: that’s just my fingers,” he said in her ear.

“Then show me just how skilled you are,” she said before kissing him again. He removed his hand and then pulled her knickers down. After a moment he gripped her thighs to lift her up and she wrapped her legs around him, and once he had positioned himself at her entrance he thrust into her. She moaned into the kiss as he pulled out to thrust into her again, beginning to build up a quick rhythm. He could have taken his time but with them being in public and the fact that he felt as though she would appreciate him taking his time later he wanted to make sure it was as memorable and intoxicating and thrilling a quick shag as possible. He used his hand to toy with her clit as he thrust into her, and she pulled away from the kiss and gasped. “Mon dieu!” she said loudly as she came, convulsing around him. A moment later he stiffened and felt himself come as well, and soon they were both panting, trying to catch their breath.

“Was that what you had hoped for?” Sherlock asked, his lips near her ear.

“Mmm,” Irene said contentedly. “And when I take you back to my home? I promise I’ll show you just what I can do.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck as she unlocked her legs from around him and he found himself quite eager to get back to her home to see just how skilled Irene was at what she had been doing for so long.


End file.
